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THE BLAKELY PRESS 

CHICAGO 

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Copyright, iSgX, by 
FRANK ARTHUR PUTNAM 



(Lo 3can (Birton 



WRITERS NOTE. 

Cuba bleeds. Four hundred thousand non-combatants starved, outraged, 
jjiven to a slow death by Spain. Two hundred thousand more perishing 
by like means. This in progress three years at our very door. Before God 
and man, this nation assumed authority to protect the peoples of the New 
World from the tyranny of the Old. The hearts of this people have been true 
to that traditon. Our leaders have betrayed us. Grover Cleveland and 
William McKinley knew what deeds were done in Cuba. They knew it 
officially from our servants, the consuls. That knowledge they withheld 
from their employers, ths people. They sacrificed this nation's dearest 
treasure, her fair fame, to a scheme of local prosperity 

Upon Grover Cleveland and William McKinley must rest the eternal 
infamy of this betrayal. 

It is not yet too late to free Cuba. It is forever too late to do our duty 
by the six hundred thousand dead and dying victims of Spain's ferocity 
and our captains' cowardice. 
Chicago, March 20, 1S98. 



I 

CUBA 

Serenely calm, serenely cold, our nation sits with folded hands, 
And sees the savage wolf of old with children's blood stain Cuba's 
sands. 



Across yon slender arm of sea murder and rape and ruin reign; 
To our deaf ears the victims' plea, mournful and awful, comes in 
vain 



My country! from whose dear-lo\ed dust the Spirit of Freedom 

sought the sky, 
Fit us to guard the sacred trust our fathers gave or batthng die! 



The lash, the goad, the despot's chains — Time's dreadful vengeance 

— must befall 
The coward land that counts its gains when Freedom's hunted 

children call. 



Thou Freedom! arm the patriot's hand; confuse, strike down the 

dastard knave; 
Lead thou thine own appointed band where deathless glory waits 

the brave! 



* 



II 

HOW LONG ? 

Still quakes the isle 'neath Murder's tread; still Hate is free to 

work its way 
Upon the bowed, defenseless head of Cuba; still the tyrant's sway, 



Unchecked, unawed, relentless runs; still Hunger robs the 

patriot's fold; 
Still we, fair Freedoms favored sons, bid Honor bow to lust of gold. 



My brothers! Hear )ou, heed \ou not the wail winds waft across 

the sea? 
Or have you all too soon forgot the cause Time trusts to vou and me^ 



Inglorious peace! The coward's shame shall blot and brand us 

through the }ears — 
Foul blot and brand upon the fame our fathers bought with blood 

and tears! 



Eternal God! to whom men fly beneath the lash of hideous wrong. 
How long shall Cuba's children cry for Thy relief? — how long? — 
how long? 



Ill 

THE CUBAN PATRIOT 

Since slave first slew his slavish fears and dared his master's will 

defy, 
The smug have damned his cause with sneers, with inuendo and 

with lie. 



i^ 



What time our fathers, face to face, with England's hired butchers 
fought. 

They too were named "a mongrel race, to little up from noth- 
ing brought." 



That reptile sneer is sped to-day at him whose breast for Cuba 

bleeds; 
I call him kinsman and I say he proves his manhood by nis deeds! 



I care not whether white or black or mingled blood his arteries fills. 
Who tireless treads the thorny track that mounts to Freedom's 
sacred hills. 



When Time the wounds of war has healed and graj- Oblivion hides 

his grave. 
His greatness then shall be revealed where Love laments the 

nameless bra\e. 



IV 
McKINLEY 

In bank and mart, in shop and store, where mills' gigantic pulses 

beat, 
On hill and plain, by sea and shore, wherever men and brothers 

meet. 



With speech that burns the lips it leaves their broken idol freemen 



His course the nation's hope deceives and gives us to eternal shame. 



A mighty people, proud and free, await their captain's battle call: 
Their captain bends the coward knee; his nerveless hand the sword 
lets fall. 



The heroic deeds that reft our chains arouse in him no answering fire; 
Trembling, he schemes for sordid gains and sees a race in rags 
expire. 



Accurst forever th' incarnate Fear that dared not check the tyrant's 

hate: 
Our children's children's ears shall hear Time's fearful cry: "Too 

late! Too late!" 



V 
MASON 

A man is risen among the cold and bloodless crew in senate hall; 
His voice is like the voice of old, when freemen burst Oppression's 
thrall. 



Such speech is his as Henry hurled defiant at the idiot king — 

A speech that rang around the world; forever may its echoes ring! 



Too long, too long, the island's green ran red beneath the Spaniard's 

blade; 
Too long the groveling and the mean the Great Republic's council 

swayed. 



Then William Ernest Mason came, electric, Western, stalwart, free: 
His utterance was a living flame that thrilled the land frorh sea 
to sea. 



His war cry, like a lightniiifj; stroke, leapt vivid through the sleep- 
ing sky; 

That hour a people's conscience woke; that hour saw Spain's do- 
minion die! 



VI 
GOMEZ 

To that high plane where Love enshrines his name who gave this 

nation life, 
Unerring Time's decree assigns the hero of a newer strife. 



His fight is that undying fight, whose martyr roll is ages long — 
The ceaseless battle waged by Right against the sway of erne 
Wrong. 



His arms are few, his purse is lean, the woods his templed cities are; 
His road is long. Death lurks between, but at the end shines Free- 
dom's star. 



Of dauntless courage, splendid skill, unwearied purpose, noble mind. 
His final years are Freedom's still; youth's roseate dreams are left 
behind. 



One dear desire is his alone — whose fruit pray God he live to see — 
The hated arms of Spain o'erthrown, the land of his affection free! 



